


Remember to Breathe

by Self-Inflicted Insanity (Marvelite5Ever)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Banter, Cuddling, Fluff, Gooey Emotions, Kissing, M/M, Makkachin is also a big puppy, These two have like the most beautiful relationship ever omg, Victor is a big puppy, Victor is calming, Yuri is anxious, gratitude, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8970919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelite5Ever/pseuds/Self-Inflicted%20Insanity
Summary: "The air was heavy with darkness, but Yuri’s eyelids were lighter than air and wouldn’t stay closed." 
Yuri is anxious, and Victor helps calm him down. Shameless fluff, banter, and gooey emotions; but also a lot of anxiety from one Yuri Katsuki. Takes place around episodes 9 and 10.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I am completely in love with _Yuri!!! On Ice_. It’s kind of the most perfect thing ever. 
> 
> Which is awesome, but also means there isn’t that much fanfiction material – it’s too frikkin perfect. So I kinda figured that limits me to descriptive snapshots and really wacky AUs…. This fic is of the first type, lol. 
> 
> I wrote this as a holiday present for a friend, who gave me this prompt: 
> 
>  
> 
> _Ok so, it’s at night and Yuri is feeling depressed or anxious again. So he goes over and crawls into Victor’s bed. But not in a sexy way. More like he wants physical reassurance and just wants to cuddle. And Victor being the big puppy he is hugs him and comforts him._
> 
>  
> 
> I actually ended up veering off from the prompt a little bit - but I hope you it enjoy nonetheless!! 
> 
> For context, the first two parts of this fic take place between episodes 9 and 10, after Yuri has returned from Russia but before he and Victor go to Barcelona for the Grand Prix Final. The last part takes place after episode 10 and before episode 11, when Yuri and Victor have the rings but before the Grand Prix Final starts.

* * *

**Remember to Breathe**

* * *

The air was heavy with darkness, but Yuri’s eyelids were lighter than air and _wouldn’t stay closed._

It was too dark to have his eyes open. It was beyond dark, even; the room was so completely saturated in darkness that it felt like he could see more with his eyes closed. The only way he could tell his eyes were open was because the air stung them when he forgot to blink, and when he tried to close them they immediately lifted again, rising upwards like the helium balloon he’d once accidentally let go of as a kid that floated up out of his reach until the blue rubber disappeared among the blue of the sky. 

It had almost made him wish he’d gotten a red balloon, like the young boy next to him who had also accidentally let go of his balloon’s ribbon, just so he could have watched it longer, and maybe he wouldn’t have been so close to tears when it vanished. 

The other boys’ red balloon had been visible much longer than his blue one, even though they’d dropped their ribbons at the same time when they’d accidentally crashed into each other, and the other boy was still cheering his red balloon on long after Yuri had lost sight of his. Other people stopped to look up and watch the red balloon, as well, something like awe, or maybe just simple interest, on their faces. Even before the blue balloon had disappeared, they hadn’t been watching it. It didn’t stand out in the sky, wasn’t worth noticing. 

Yuri thought that he used to be like the blue balloon of skating competitions; never standing out except perhaps in how quickly he disappeared from the lineup. He had always thought it would be better to be a red balloon, like Victor; someone who _stood out_ , and who people couldn’t help watching in awe, or even just simple interest. 

But Yuri was a red balloon now, and it wasn’t like what he’d expected. He’d thought it would feel great, to have so many people watching you and looking up to you in wonder and cheering you on, but he felt like everyone was watching him through the barrel of a gun and just waiting to shoot him down. 

He shivered, even though the room wasn’t cold except for in how here was no light to make him feel warmer and less alone, and pulled the blankets higher over his face. 

He could see his room just as well through the fabric as he could through the air, and it wasn’t any harder to breathe because he kept forgetting to draw air into his lungs anyway, not remembering until his chest started to ache and he felt dizzy, like he was standing up and tipping towards the floor, even though he was already lying down. 

He was sure he must be a complete failure of a human being, if he was doing such things as comparing himself to balloons (which was as stupid and childish as imagining a pork cutlet bowl while skating to song about sexual love) and forgetting to breathe (which he was pretty sure was something that one wasn’t supposed to be able to forget to do). 

His hands where he clutched the blanket were trembling, and it was dark but he could see the bright lights of the skating rink, the roaring of the Moscow crowd like so many starved lions, seated all around him, looking down at him in the rink that was walled like an arena and the sweat was dripping into his face like he’d just fought for his very life and limb. 

It alarmed him slightly that he was comparing the skating rink to a gladiator arena, because the rink was also the only place he felt safe. But it didn’t feel safe when he was competing; when he was being judge; when everyone was looking at him (and waiting for him to _fail_ ).

It only felt like a gladiator arena when he was competing, when success seemed to mean the difference between life and death.

Victor had always made it look so _effortless_. When Victor was on the ice, he wasn’t human; he was some ethereal, immortal being that nothing could ever touch. Unlike the other skaters, Victor had never given the impression that he was skating in order to win; with Victor, it always seemed like he was skating simply and purely for the enjoyment of skating. It was so natural, almost elemental; wind blew, fire burned, water fell to the earth, and Victor skated. 

Victor skated because he loved skating, and Yuri skated because he wanted to feel the same way about skating that Victor did. 

Yuri wondered how Victor could do it, because he thought he felt at peace on the ice, sometimes, like it was truly a part of him the way it was with Victor, but when he went out on the ice in front of a crowd and judges he felt nothing but _human_ and like he was trying not to _die_. 

Yuri had long wondered how Victor did it, and the only conclusion he could come to was that, unlike everyone else, Victor did not compete in order to be judged and ranked. He seemed to compete only as a favor to everyone else, as if to say, _Watch me: I will show you just how beautiful this world can be._

That was how Yuri had always aspired to skate; like he was making the world a more beautiful place with the movements of his body in harmony with the music and the ice. 

Why was it so hard, he despaired as he clenched his eyes shut so hard they ached to remember to enjoy skating when everyone was watching, judging? 

His eyes floated open again, but he didn’t notice until they started stinging and watering because he’d forgotten to blink, his lungs aching because he’d forgotten to breathe, as if his body was trying to turn into a statue, as if that would pin down his racing mind. 

Why couldn’t he sleep? They didn’t even leave for the Grand Prix Final for another week. He shouldn’t be so panicked, not at this point. He needed to sleep.

He tried to focus on breathing: inhale, exhale; inhale, exhale; inhale, exhale. It made him dizzier, made his lungs achier, and he stopped. 

A minute later he was forced to breathe again. And a minute later after that. And a minute later after that. It felt strange to hold still air in his chest, his heart pounding on in the background. He could hear it better when he wasn’t breathing. 

He shouldn’t be so _nervous._ He wasn’t fighting alone, this time. This time, he had Victor; he shouldn’t feel so alone, not when Victor was with him, when Victor had turned out to be so undeniably human, when Victor believed in him, when Victor was _inspired by_ him. 

_Why the hell was Victor inspired by him?_

None of it made sense, because Victor—Victor was a skating _genius_ , and Yuri was—

Yuri was—

Yuri just _was._

_“I was drawn to you because of the way you skate like your body is making music.”_

And it hurt, because he’d taken Victor from the world, but he could never replace Victor, and everyone expected him to, even while they knew he couldn’t. 

_“You can surprise them in ways that I can’t.”_

And every time he failed, it reflected badly on Victor, and that was the last thing he wanted, because Victor was _amazing_ and was giving him _so much_ , and Yuri didn’t know what he was giving Victor in return. 

_“You can pay the coaching fees after you’ve won.”_

Yuri didn’t understand why Victor was doing this. 

_“Surprise me, Yuri.”_

This was—this was Yuri’s _idol_ , the person Yuri had been looking up to since he was a young boy and had first seen Victor skate, and it was all so _surreal_ —

Victor was Yuri’s idol, but, as Yuri was constantly reminded, Victor was also human. 

Victor was human, and he drooled in his sleep, and he didn’t know how to comfort people who were crying, and he could spend hours and several thousands of dollars on shopping sprees, and he had a plushy poodle he packed with him on trips because he missed Makkachin, and he was coaching Yuri when he could be coaching Yurio or still be skating, and he… 

He’d said that he was going to make Yuri to win Gold at the Grand Prix Final, and Yuri had barely scraped by as a contender. 

Yuri curled his knees further towards his chest, face pressing further into the blankets till he actually noticed how difficult it had become to draw breath, and he wondered, _What am I doing?_

Disentangling himself slightly from the blankets, he glanced over at the digital clock on his nightstand, the red numbers glowing faintly, hovering there in the darkness like a helium balloon held in place by a weight tied to a ribbon.

The numbers read 01:52, and Yuri groaned and shoved his face into his pillow, forgetting to draw in another breath. He’d been trying to fall asleep for almost four hours, and had been failing the entire time. 

His lungs were tight and his eyes wouldn’t close and the covers were starting to crush him, and Yuri just gave up, slipping out of bed and padding across the cool bamboo floor, slipping out of his room and shutting the door silently behind him. 

The darkness was too thick to see, but he could walk this path with his eyes closed, so it didn’t matter. 

It wasn’t till he was forced to focus on the soft sounds of his bare feet on the floor and being as quiet as possible that he realized just how quiet it was, with nobody else awake. He hadn’t noticed before because it was so loud inside his head, a constant keening of worries, doubts, fears, the kinds of self-defeating thoughts he knew he shouldn’t be having but couldn’t stop. Maybe if someone else were talking, he wouldn’t have to listen to all the voices in his head. 

Blindly, he managed to turn on the TV, volume and dimness as low as they would go, just barely loud enough for him to hear and just barely bright enough to make out. He didn’t even know what channel it was on, just trying to focus on the voices, which might have been speaking in English because they were hard to understand. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there staring blankly at the TV trying desperately to stop _thinking_ when he heard the creak of stairs and the pad of footsteps, and he knew the weight of those footsteps, knew the cadence of that walk. 

Victor. Victor, Victor, Victor, Victor, Victor, _Victor._

The name echoed throughout his mind along with the waves of guilt, and he tensed, head lowered as the other man entered the room. 

“Yuri…?” came Victor’s voice sleepily, like he was rubbing his eyes and fighting back a yawn, though Yuri didn’t look up to see if he could make out such movements in the dim light of the television.

Yuri’s throat was dry, and he suddenly wondered why he hadn’t thought to grab a glass of water. “...I’m sorry for waking you,” he mumbled, and reached for the remote to turn the TV off.

“Yuri,” Victor said, and his voice was chiding but gentle, a warm hand covering his own before he could press the power button. “You didn’t wake me up. I woke up to use the restroom, and then realized that someone was out here.” 

Yuri couldn’t look at him. Victor smelled of skating rink ice and some kind of Russian cologne that Yuri couldn’t remember the name of, but it was aromatic, kind of a fresh spicy scent, with some kind of citrus top notes, white floral middle notes, and base notes of amber and musk. It smelled nice, whatever it was, and he’d liked the way the name had rolled off Victor’s tongue. 

Yuri forgot to breathe out until Victor poked him in his right obliques, making him let out a gasp of air in surprise.

“Breathe,” Victor reminded him, and Yuri clenched his eyes shut. 

“It hurts,” he mumbled, and clenched his eyes tighter because they were stinging. 

Gentle fingers brushed the hair from his forehead. “Breathing hurts?” 

“It makes me dizzy,” Yuri said quietly, and felt like an idiot, tears collecting warm and wet behind his eyelids. 

“Breathing makes you dizzy.” Yuri didn’t hear Victor sigh so much as he felt the controlled exhale ghost over his face. “Do you need a paper bag?” 

Yuri shook his head, and the gentle fingers brushed the hair again from his brow. “What do you need?” 

“I need to not need to breathe,” Yuri answered without thinking, and after a surprised pause Victor chuckled softly. Yuri felt like an idiot, but he also felt kind of warm, maybe a little pleased he’d made Victor laugh, even if he didn’t understand how. 

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.” A thumb traced over his lips, and then a finger flicked his nose, making him jerk his head slightly and open his eyes. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d much rather you kept breathing.” 

He could barely make out Victor’s smile in the dark, eyes just as gray as his hair in the achromatic tones of night. It was strange to see Victor’s eyes like that, when he knew them to be the most beautiful shade of blue he’d ever seen. And it didn’t make sense that even in the darkness when he could barely see, Victor’s smile still warmed him faster than a mug of tea, made his heart beat as if he were running.

He was not worthy of this magnificent being, a voice in his head reminded him, as if he needed reminding. 

“Come on,” Victor murmured, clicking off the TV with the remote before standing, offering him a hand. “Come sleep with me and Makkachin tonight.” 

Yuri looked up at him, rubbing the warm wetness from his eyes with the back of a wrist—

_Why had Victor chosen him?_

—before taking Victor’s hand, feeling it close reassuring and warm around his own, pulling him gently to his feet, guiding him out of the room, Yuri following silently. 

“E-e,” Victor said quietly, pausing in the hallway. 

Yuri blinked. “What is it?” 

Victor chuckled awkwardly. “I’m not sure I can find the way back to my room in the pitch black.” 

Yuri sighed, but felt his lips twitch upwards. “Here, I’ll lead,” he said, stepping forwards and tugging Victor in the right direction. 

“You’re amazing,” Victor said quietly, sounding awed as he followed behind, fingers interlacing with Yuri’s own. “How can you see in this darkness?” 

“I can’t; my eyes aren’t even open,” Yuri answered, relieved that finally his eyelids would stay shut. 

_“What?”_

Yuri smiled slightly. “I memorized the layout a long time ago. I did grow up here, after all.” 

“...I never memorized the layout of _my_ house,” Victor said, more to himself than to Yuri.

“You probably weren’t at home as much as I was,” Yuri shrugged, arriving at the room Victor was staying and nudging him inside, closing the door behind them. He let Victor tug him to the bed, and, careful not to disturb Makkachin, they clambered onto the mattress, burrowing under the covers. 

Yuri tried to leave a little space between them, but Victor wasn’t having it, wrapping his arms around Yuri and pulling him closer, till he had Yuri practically lying on top of him. 

Fingers rubbed abstract patterns into the planes of his back, and Yuri found himself slowly relaxing, his breathing steadying out to match Victor’s, his heartbeat doing the same. 

“So,” came Victor’s voice, and Yuri could feel it vibrating in the other man’s chest. “Are you going to tell me what you were nervous about?”

Yuri was quiet, wondering if there was any way he could possibly explain his feelings without it sounding stupid. 

“...You awake, Yuri?” 

“Just...” Yuri sighed, tilting his head to bury his nose further in Victor’s night shirt, the scent of the cologne comforting and familiar, the scent of the ice rink even more so. “Nothing. Everything.” 

Victor made a humming sound, which kind of tickled against Yuri’s ear, and brought his hand up to thread his fingers through Yuri’s hair. “You’ll be okay.” 

“Okay,” Yuri said, too tired to argue, the fingers massaging his scalp making him let out a sigh of contentment. 

“Next time, come to my bedroom first,” Victor said. “I’m better company than the TV.” 

Yuri thought about this for a moment, not sure he wanted to admit that he’d rather not bother Victor with his stupid insecurities. “The TV doesn’t snore,” he pointed out lamely. 

“But I’ve been told my snoring is adorable,” Victor yawned, fingers slowing their ministrations against Yuri’s scalp, languidly. “Besides, I’m your coach. It’s a coach’s job to make sure their students aren’t hyperventilating from nervousness.” 

“I wasn’t hyperventilating!” Yuri said defensively, lifting his head to look at Victor. He looked peaceful, bangs fanned over his face, eyes closed. (Nobody should be able to look so beautiful when you could barely see them in the darkness.)

Victor cracked his eyes open to peer at him, and Yuri ducked his head back towards Victor’s chest, grateful to the darkness for hiding the heat that had risen to his cheeks.“I just kept forgetting to breathe…” he mumbled. 

“Akh, well, that’s no good either,” Victor tsked, flicking Yuri lightly in the forehead. “And here I thought _I_ was the forgetful one.”

“Please forget about this...” Yuri muttered, burying his head back against Victor’s chest and wishing he would sink into the darkness and disappear, like that blue balloon into the sky. 

“Okay,” Victor said agreeably, relaxing beneath him, and Yuri could practically hear the moment he closed his eyes; his voice got lazier. “But sleep first. We can forget about this later. You’ll remind me, won’t you?” 

“Remind you to what?” Yuri mumbled, finally feeling exhaustion settle in his bones, his eyelids. 

“Remind me to forget about this.” 

Yuri puzzled over that for a few moments, decided that it didn’t make any sense, and said, “Okay.”

“Knew I could count on you,” Victor mumbled, squirming slightly as he settled back into his pillows, letting out a small, content sigh. “I believe in you, Yuri. Do your best for me. Just make sure you don’t stress about it too much, okay?” 

“Okay,” Yuri agreed, not really listening. It wasn’t until several minutes later, the words rolling around in his head, that he frowned, lifting up to look at Victor and ask, “Wait, what did I just agree to?”

The only answer was soft snoring, and Yuri sighed, dropping his head back to the sleeping Victor’s chest. “Victor, that’s not fair,” he whined, plucking at Victor’s pajama shirt. Victor didn’t stir, but Makkachin returned the whine, belly-crawling closer; Yuri gave a soft laugh as Makkachin’s head rested on his thigh, tail thumping against the bed. 

And Yuri was struck with such an overwhelming wave of sheer, ineffable _gratitude_ that his chest seized, happiness trickling in rivulets from his closed eyes as he buried his face in Victor’s nightshirt. 

Yuri eventually fell asleep with salt on his lips and Victor’s fingers in his hair.

* * *

“You were crying?” Victor asked in the morning, a thumb resting at the corner of Yuri’s reddened eyes, tracing down the teartrails on his cheeks. Victor was frowning. 

“What?!” Yuri said, pulling away, eyes wide. “I, uh—no, I wasn’t! I—!”

Victor leveled him with a _look_ , and Yuri slumped, grinning awkwardly, so widely that his eyes crinkled up and he didn’t have to see the concern hidden behind Victor’s glare. “I, uh. It doesn’t count as crying if they’re tears of happiness, right?” He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. 

There was no answer, and he opened his eyes slightly to see Victor watching him, eyes narrowed slightly. 

Yuri’s smile softened to something more genuine. “I mean it,” he said, reaching out to take Victor’s hand, looking down as he interlaced their fingers together. His smile, he was sure, was something stupidly fond, and he could feel his cheeks heat up as he admitted, “I was just… I’m just really grateful to have you in my life.” 

His ears were burning, and he couldn’t look up. 

Victor took his chin in his other hand and made him meet his eyes. 

Victor’s eyes were the most stunning blue, and Yuri could still not think of a suitable comparison to their shade. Maybe glacier ice, but somehow not as cold. 

There was a warm smile on Victor’s lips, and his eyes sparkled. “I’m grateful to have you in my life, too, Yuri,” he said, and when Yuri stammered and looked away, Victor just gave a happy laugh and pulled him into a hug. 

Yuri melted into the embrace, and wished he had some way of expressing to Victor just how much he truly meant what he’d said. 

But there were no more words, so he just hugged Victor tighter and hoped it was clear that when he eventually, and inevitably, let go, it was not because he wanted to.

* * *

The sunset was beautiful, but that wasn’t where Yuri was looking.

He was staring at their matching rings again, tilting his hand so the gold band around his right ring finger would catch the waning sunlight, the gold seeming more brilliant, somehow, than the oranges and scarlets painting the horizon, but also more daunting. 

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, the words he wanted to ask catching in his throat. “Will you…” he took a deep breath, not able to meet the curious gaze of the man beside him. “Will you really marry me if I win the Grand Prix Final?” 

He could feel himself shaking. 

“Da,” Victor said, a smile in his voice, his right hand reaching over to cover Yuri’s left. Victor’s ring glinted amber in the rosy light of the setting sun. 

Yuri looked up towards the gilded horizon, hands tightening slightly on the railing, chilly wind tossing his hair into his face. He hoped it obscured the fear in his eyes. 

“...Would you marry me even if I lost?” he asked, voice so quiet he wasn’t sure if Victor had actually heard. 

Out of the corner of his eye, though, he saw Victor turn to face him. “Of course,” Victor said, voice warm but hand cold when he took Yuri gently by the chin, turning his head so their eyes met. 

Victor’s smile was teasing, but his eyes were searching. “You don’t really think my love for you is so shallow that I wouldn’t love you if you lost, did you?” 

Seagulls were crying far above them. 

Yuri swallowed, barely holding Victor’s gaze. “But you said...” 

“Ts-s, pupsik,” Victor said, flicking Yuri in the forehead before quickly kissing the spot. “Lyublyu tebya.”

Yuri stared at him, feeling lost, confused, scared. 

Victor’s eyes were serious. “I do not say such things lightly.” 

Yuri just continued staring at him, wondering if there was more, but Victor appeared to be waiting for his response. “...I don’t even know what you said,” he finally admitted, suddenly wondering if it was something that he should have known. 

Victor smiled, though, and for several moments all the racing thoughts in Yuri’s mind stopped and he forgot how to breathe. “I called you a cutie and said that I loved you.” 

Victor had taken Yuri’s right hand in his own two, somehow without Yuri noticing, and was fingering the golden band around Yuri’s ring finger with a grin. “But it sounds much better in Russian, don’t you think?” 

Yuri’s chest felt like it was about to burst, and he finally took a breath, feeling slightly dizzy. The sunlight was bleeding across the surface of the ocean, red and orange and glittering like the rings on their fingers. 

Victor looked back up at Yuri, then, his hair whipping in his face from the breeze but his eyes as steady and as blue as glaciers, and Yuri tried to stammer out an answer but all that came out was, “I…” 

So he gave up on words and just kissed Victor instead. 

(When Yuri finally broke the kiss, his lips tasted of salt, and he’d only pulled away because he needed to breathe.)

**Author's Note:**

> **Translations (Russian)**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Da_ – Yes
> 
> _E-e_ – Uh 
> 
> _Akh_ – Ah 
> 
> _Ts-s_ – Shh 
> 
> _Pupsik_ – Cutie 
> 
> _Lyublyu tebya_ – I love you 
> 
>  
> 
> **Author’s Note**  
>  Just pretend they’re speaking Japanese in this… uh… yeah… and Victor thinks saying “I love you” sounds better in Russian because it’s his native language and he’s totally biased. I don’t think Yuri cares what language Victor says it in, lol.
> 
> On a random note, when I first wrote the sentence “Besides, I’m your coach,” I accidentally wrote “Besides, I’m your couch.” XD Though I guess that really could have worked too, lol, since Yuri kinda was lying on top of him. 
> 
> Anyways! I hope you all enjoyed this piece!! And I _really_ hope I managed to write them in character… I’ve been on winter break and have had an unusual amount of freetime to watch anime, which means I’ve been watching a lot of anime, and hopefully character personalities in my head haven’t gotten too mixed up due to that…
> 
> On another random note, for some reason I _really_ enjoy writing scenes that take place in the dark… not quite sure why… maybe because it’s easier to remember to include the other senses? Well, it’s a theory. But whatever the reason, scenes in the dark are really fun to write :3 
> 
>   
> **  
> **  
> **Closing Thoughts**  
>   
>  **Yuri:** “So, when/if I win the Grand Prix Final...” 
> 
> **Victor:** “Da?” 
> 
> **Yuri:** “That would make the _victor,_ right?” 
> 
> **Victor:** “…”


End file.
